As we thus suddenly came upon that sight, we stopped to look at the spectacle. It looked very blue, and I dare say, we looked a shade "blue" ourselves; for we could not see a Confederate anywhere, and we supposed we had no support whatever, though we were better off in this particular than we knew. And the idea of pitching into that host, with six unsupported guns, was not calming to the mind. Coming out from cover of the pines, back of a slight ridge that ran through the field, with a few sassafras bushes on it, we were not seen, and the Federals were in blissful ignorance of what was about to follow. We pulled diagonally across the field to a point, just back of the low ridge, and quietly went into position and unlimbered the guns. We pushed them, by hand, up so that the muzzles just looked clear over the ridge, which thus acted as a low work in our front, and proved a great protection. The field had been freshly plowed for corn, the wheels sunk into it, and the minute we tried to move the guns, by hand, with our small force, we saw what it was going to be, in action, with the sun blazing down. When all was ready,--guns pointed, limber, and caisson chests opened,--General Stuart said, waving his hand toward that swarming field of Federals, "Boys, I want you to knock that all to pieces for me. So go to work." And this was the last time we ever saw the superb hero. He rode, right from our guns, to his death at "Yellow Tavern" a day or two after. We have always remembered with the deepest interest, that the very last thing that glorious soldier, "J. E. B." Stuart, did in the Army of Northern Virginia was to put our guns into position, and give us orders; which _we obeyed_, to his entire satisfaction, I know, if he had seen it. The minute General Stuart had given his order, and turned to ride away, Captain McCarthy, sitting on his horse, where he sat during the whole fight, looking as cool as the sun would let him, and far more unconcerned than if he had been going to dinner, sung out, "Section ---- commence firing." It was ours, the Fourth gun's turn to open the ball. We were all waiting around the guns for the word. The group, as it stood, is before my mind as vividly as then. Dan McCarthy, Sergt. Ned Stine, acting gunner (vice Tony Dibrell absent, sick, for some time past, who came tearing back, _still sick_, the moment he heard we were on the warpath) Ben Lambert, No. 1; Joe Bowen, No. 2; Beau Barnes, No. 3; W. M. Dame, No. 4; Bill Hardy, No. 5; Charlie Pleasants, No. 6; Sam Vaden, No. 7; Watt Dibbrell, No. 8! The three drivers of the limber, six yards back of the gun, dismounted, and holding their horses. Ellis, the lead driver, had scooped out the loose dirt, with his hands, and lay down, on his back, in the shallow hole, holding the reins with his upstretched hands.